"Who are you?"

"I am Mertaan, a fighting Prince of Baser. I was taken from a Baserite
ship."

"Too bad, fellow. I'm sorry."

"It was no accident. I arranged to be taken."

"That hardly makes any sense."

The man spoke through grim lips, his clear eyes blazing. "That's why I
wondered about you--wondered if our plot was suspected. We can't take
a chance."

"Your plot?"

"Yes. But I think you are genuine prisoners."

Nicko translated and added, "You can be damned sure about that."

"What plot are you talking about?" Mike asked.

"Baser attacks the Ptomenites in force tonight."

"I'm glad to hear that but I don't see how you can be much help in
here."

"This is one facet of the plan. We corrupted a scant few of the
Ptomenite guards. They are our men."

An odd thought struck Nicko. "We're glad to hear that too, but could
you tell me something? With gold and jewels lying around on the ground
what kind of bait lures a man on this planet."

"Our women are the most beautiful and exciting females in existence,"
the Baserite said grimly.

Nicko whistled and Mike snapped. "Quit taking up time with silly
questions. We want to know more of this plot."

Mertaan took a key from the front of his jacket. "There is one or more
Baserites in every cell of this block. Each has a key that will unlock
his cell. The Baserite war fleet comes over soon. When we hear the
whine of the ships, we strike. Are you with us?"

"We could hardly be with the Ptomenites."

Mertaan eyed Nicko suspiciously. "Is the strange one also with us?"

"Just wait and find out!" Nicko said.

* * * * *

The Baserite turned even grimmer of face. "I am taking no chances.
This plan must work. My brother just died down there in their reeking
vat--"

Mike was astounded. "You mean you had a key? You could send the whole
cell block to his rescue? But you let him die?"

Ice glazed over the pain in the Baserite's eyes. "There is much more
at stake here than one life. A nation. The time was not right. I had
hoped my brother would be spared a few minutes longer but it was not
to be."

Mike marveled anew. Truly--these Baserites were men of iron will.
"When?" Mike asked grimly.

"Soon." Mertaan took a small, strange-looking weapon from his pocket.
It resembled a pistol enough to be identified as such. "I wish I could
offer you arms, but smuggling them in was very risky. What few we have
are in the hands of picked warr